St. Louis Post-Dispatch
April 1, 2002

Morris Starts to Take Command

By Joe Strauss

There was a time when Matt Morris making an opening-day start seemed an absurdity. Actually, that time could have been as recently as last April 2, the day the Cardinals opened the 2001 season against the Colorado Rockies.

That was 12 months, 22 wins and an evolution ago. Morris today walks into Busch Stadium a commanding presence on what may be the game's deepest pitching staff. Morris opens the season against the Rockies one year after beginning his career anew.

No longer is Morris described as the power thrower recovering from ligament replacement surgery. Instead, he is the Cardinals' first 22-game winner since Bob Gibson won 23 in 1970, the deed-holder to Busch Stadium after last season's 15 home wins and, most dangerously, a work still in progress.

Pitching coach Dave Duncan describes Morris not by what he is, but by what he isn't:

"Does Matt Morris have the best breaking pitch he's ever going to have? No. Does he have the best command he's ever going to have? Is his change-up what it will be? No. Does he have the most experience? No."

What Morris does possess is a grown resume. He was 15-2 with a 1.62 earned-run average in 18 starts at Busch Stadium last season, giving him a 28-13 career record at his home digs. No one has won more games in a season at Busch, which opened in 1966.

"I don't like talking about it," Morris said, "saying you're the guy, you're the guy. If I go out there and other people say I'm the guy we want out there, that's fine. That's more respect than me saying it or the media building it up. Just getting the opening-day spot doesn't mean I'm the leader."

Thrower becomes a pitcher

Morris has slowly changed his philosophy from a power thrower's to a power pitcher's. It is a process that began in 1996 at Double-A Arkansas when he listened to coach Marty Mason's suggestion to adopt a sinking two-seam fastball over a more comfortable but straight four-seam pitch.

It continued during his lost portions of 1999 and 2000 following "Tommy John surgery." And it still continues for a 27-year-old who has shouldered only 84 major-league starts before receiving today's honor.

The more Morris watched from the dugout in 1999, the more he learned. He saw how elite pitchers separated themselves not just by assortment but also by their presence.

"That's all I could do," said Morris, "sit around and watch personalities and actions. I learned a lot about makeup and body actions. You're presenting yourself as a guy who gets the job done, whether you're better than the next guy or not. Sometimes that gives you an edge."

Said manager Tony La Russa, "I think it's common sense. Take an example like (Mark) McGwire. If you sit around with a special talent while other guys are pitching and playing and you're watching, I think it hardens you. You appreciate the opportunity when it comes back."

Mason, who is now the Cardinals bullpen coach, said: "His nature is to take something like his injury and make something good out of it. You realize this game is special. He matured in that situation. Obviously, you'd like to see him healthy. But his personality is to find something good in it. That's why he's special."

Morris won 12 games his rookie season in 1997 and 10 in his next three combined. He returned in 2000 to pitch solely in relief. Last season's 3.16 ERA actually caused his career figure to rise.

95, not 100, percent

Morris once tried to bore through opponents with his high, straight fastball. He only recently learned the art of moderation. His reward was last season's 216 1/3 innings and 185 strikeouts while allowing only 54 walks.

Said Morris, "I've always been an aggressive guy. I never went out there, backed off pitches and got hit. I always tried to make my pitches better when they were good enough. I've learned to pitch at 95 percent. If you pitch at 95, you've got room for error.

"If you're giving 100 percent every pitch, it might be hard to pinpoint (because of) muscling up on every pitch."

Morris remains as aggressive as he is hard throwing. His biggest flaw is a tendency to overthrow two-strike pitches. Backing off is not an option. The attitude leaves him more vulnerable in two-strike counts than some others, but it's a trade-off Morris tolerates.

"You've got to have an approach where you know even if you make a mistake, it's better than this guy at the plate," Morris said.

Morris pointed to Kevin Brown. "I remember '97 when he was with the Marlins," Morris said. "We faced him in Florida and you get to see the action. He was just dominating, jumping at us and aggressive. It was probably the same stuff he had when he went to (San Diego and Los A ngeles). But he didn't have that same aggression. His velocity was great but I didn't hear many grunts that day. And I didn't see him jumping forward. It could have been the same down-and-away fastball, but that day in Florida he had a little extra."

Once a walking mood ring

Morris once was an easy read leaving the mound. Slope-shouldered after a tough inning and more strident when cruising, he became a walking mood ring. That has changed, though only by degree. His expectations, however, remain mountainous.

"Once I was able to find my game," Morris said, "my good sinker in different counts and the curveball, I went out there with the attitude that I was going to throw a no-hitter every game. That's my goal. Obviously, it's a tough goal to live up to. I make an adjustment."

"Sometimes I go up out there with the idea of throwing a no-hitter and the first pitch of the game is a base hit. I used to get mad. Now I say my goal is they don't score."

At 6-foot-5, Morris possesses the prototypical power-pitcher's physique as well as the split personality that allows him to be as intimidating on the field as he is personable off it.

"We're just trying to get outs and make it easier on yourself," Morris said. "It's about controlling both sides of the plate. I've never seen one of those guys hit a home run off me and say they were sorry, or worry about my feelings. I've gotten balls (hit) back at me; it's just part of the game. I'm throwing inside for effect, of course. When it's my turn, I want the other team to know it's my turn. It's my day. I'm going to play a big part in the game."

Not just any game. His game.

Opening day's game.